


Happy Birthday

by doridoripawaa



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aging, Birthday, F/F, Gifts, No Lesbians Die, Presents, Sapphic, doroleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doridoripawaa/pseuds/doridoripawaa
Summary: Dorothea's least favorite words.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 60





	Happy Birthday

The 29th day of the Horsebow Moon.

Dorothea scowled at her calendar as sunlight filtered through her curtains, illuminating the wall directly above her desk. As faint as the light was, she could make out the date all too clearly.

Perhaps because she'd been dreading it for weeks.

"Rise and shine, Dorothea," the brunette whispered groggily as she began to squirm and shuffle in her blankets. How entangled had she become last night? How much had she been tossing and turning? 

'Of course I couldn't sleep,' she thought bitterly as she finally kicked off her quilt and cast it aside. With a loud yawn, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet on the ground. 'Today is going to be miserable.'

Luckily, Dorothea had plenty of experience on stage. She could put on a cheerful facade and wear a smiling mask all day long, and nobody would be any the wiser. She constantly received praise for her talents in the opera, but her acting skills were actually almost up to par, if she were to say so herself.

Everyone would think she was enjoying the day. Everyone would think she was grateful for the well wishes. Everyone would think she appreciated the spotlight.

As the songstress hummed a soft melody and strode up to her mirror, a horrifying thought struck her like Thoron. 

Everyone would be fooled… except  _ her _ .

* * *

“Happy birthday, Dorothea.”

Of course Edelgard would be first to wish her a happy birthday. The princess always seemed to be up at the edge of dawn, either studying or training. She was always alert, always engaged, always preparing… but for what?

Dorothea curtsied slightly and giggled. “Thank you, Edie. It’s an honor to receive birthday wishes from the Imperial Princess herself,” she cooed. A faint blush began to blossom on Edelgard’s cheeks, and Dorothea barely managed to suppress a snicker. As authoritative, powerful, and intimidating as Edelgard could be… at the end of the day, she was just another young maiden, easily flustered and surprisingly impressionable.

“I came to you as a friend, not as a princess,” Edelgard declared, and the end of her sentence tilted upward in a soft whine. She cleared her throat and then reached into the satchel hanging from her shoulder. “Of course, if you wish to treat me formally, I could just take this gift back, because a  _ princess  _ needn’t give a present--”

Dorothea gasped and leaped forward, clasping Edelgard’s free hand in her own. “Oh, Edie! You spoil me!” she squealed. “You shouldn’t have!”

Once again, much to the songstress’s delight, Edelgard’s face flared like red-hot flames. “Then I’ll take it back!” she huffed. “But… I have no use for it, so I may as well give it to you, my friend.” She shuffled around in her back for a moment before pulling out a silver hair clip, adorned with sapphires in the shape of an eighth note. “I know the color choice seems odd, but it is your birthstone, and I thought the sapphires would compliment your hair and your eyes. It’s far too rich of a color for me, as pale as I am, so-- Dorothea?!”

The princess grew rigid as a board as Dorothea wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. “Thank you! This must be the most valuable item I own, you know.”

_ And if I do not find a lover soon, it will be the only thing of value that I own at all. _

* * *

“I wish you the happiest day of birth, Dorothea.”

Another birthday wish. Dorothea managed to muster a smile, but her expression grew genuinely soft when she saw who had called out to her. Petra had caught up to her right outside of the dining hall, a little bit of sauce from her breakfast still smeared on her face.

“Petra, darling, remember to take care of yourself before taking care of me,” Dorothea laughed, and she reached up with her sleeve to wipe Petra’s chin. “I’m sure the rabbit meat was a nice treat, though.”

Petra nodded in agreement, but then she rapidly shook her head, sending her braid flying from side to side. “More important than me today is you,” she insisted. “I am unsure of what gifts people are giving in Fodlan,” she went on, “but I brought you a gift of Brigid.”

The princess must have been able to hear how ferociously Dorothea’s heart was pounding. “Petra,” she began, feeling a slight blush rise to her cheeks. “You didn’t have to give me anything. I just appreciate your friendship.”

Petra frowned slightly, seeming displeased with Dorothea’s sudden demure demeanor. “You are precious to me,” Petra told her firmly. “And so I had been making-- had made-- made-- you a traditional Brigid gift.”

As Petra reached into her skirt pocket, Dorothea braced herself for the surprise that awaited her. What was a traditional gift in Brigid? A bow and arrows? An animal pelt? A tattoo?

Instead, Petra pulled out a necklace of handcrafted gemstone beads, shining in reds, pinks, yellows, and oranges. “You are reminding me of the sun,” Petra explained. “You are radiant when you are singing.” Red flecks began to sprinkle her cheeks. “I would be most honored if you would be wearing this necklace if you are singing on stage again.”

Dorothea extended her hands humbly, so that Petra could gently place the beads in her palms. “It would be  _ my  _ honor, Petra,” she asserted. “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift.”

Petra shook her head again, although less vigorously this time, so that her hair did not become a weapon. “No, Dorothea,” she murmured. “I want to be thanking you. Please wear it with Brigid pride.”

_ And if I do not find a lover soon, I will have no pride at all. _

* * *

“Happy b-b-birthday, Dorothea!”

With a tremendous amount of effort, the mage forced another smile onto her face, although she was willing to bet it looked strained. The timid girl before her did not seem to notice, though; she was too preoccupied with her own terror to notice Dorothea’s lukewarm response.

“Oh, Bernie,” Dorothea perked up when she recognized her housemate. “You came out of your room for me?”

Bernadetta blushed fiercely. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “I… uh… here!” She thrust her hands forward and bowed deeply, hiding her face from view beneath her shaggy lavender locks.

Somewhat puzzled, Dorothea waved her hand casually and tried to reassure her. “Oh Bernie, you don’t have to bow to me,” she reminded her gently. “I’m just a commoner, but aside from that, we’re friends.”

Bernadetta mumbled something under her breath, but Dorothea couldn’t quite decipher her muffled musings. Somewhat uncomfortably, she instead directed her attention to the handkerchief in the archer’s outstretched hands. “Bernie!” she cried out as she plucked the object from the girl’s grasp.

Bernadetta immediately bolted upright, and her eyes began to water. “Y-yes?” she whimpered. “It’s ugly, isn’t it? It’s horrible! I’m talentless, worthless, unmarriageable--”

“Do not talk so negatively about my Bernie!” Dorothea chided. “In fact, I was going to say quite the opposite!” Gently, she traced the embroidered edges of the handkerchief with her fingertip. “How did you get this level of detail?” she breathed. “It looks like you wove braids into this line!”

“Open it up.”

“Pardon?”

Bernadetta clapped her hands over her mouth and began to sniffle. “N-nevermind!”

With a careful, cautious touch, Dorothea unfolded the handkerchief and held the thin sheet of fabric out before her. Her jaw dropped open as the sunlight shone through the white satin and illuminated a vibrant, hand-stitched red rose in the center. “Bernadetta, you are so skilled!” she exclaimed. “I cannot begin to thank you enough!”

Feeble fingers slid down the girl’s face, slowly unveiling teary grey eyes. “Really?”

Dorothea reached out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Really. Don’t say you’re unmarriageable; I’d love to snatch you up for myself! You’ll be an amazing wife.”

_ And if I do not find a lover soon, I will never be a wife at all. _

* * *

“Thank you for the tea.”

Dorothea stirred the steaming liquid in her teacup--a delicious apple blend--absentmindedly. The woman sitting opposite her simply nodded before lifting her own cup to her lips.

The brunette did not know what she expected when her professor invited her to tea, but it certainly wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. ‘The professor is a woman of few words, but…’

But what? What did she want? Did she  _ want  _ Byleth to wish her a happy birthday? Of course not. If Dorothea could have her way, she would never celebrate her birthday at all. She would just pass through time, never aging, never needing to worry about her youth and her value fading away….

“It’s your birthday.”

Dorothea’s teacup clattered against its saucer as she shakily put it back down.

“Ah, I’m flattered that you pay so much attention to me, Professor.”

“I know all of my students’ birthdays.”

Just as usual, Byleth was not playing any games. She was blunt, straightforward, and direct.

At the same time, she was so alluring and mysterious that Dorothea couldn’t help herself to get drawn in and want to spill all of her secrets.

“You don’t like your birthday,” Byleth stated flatly. Not a guess. Not an accusation. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement.

Dorothea chuckled softly and shook her head. Even as she laughed outwardly, no laughter or light reached her empty emerald eyes. “It’s like you’re seeing right through me,” she murmured.

“Seeing through you?” Byleth echoed, placing her own teacup down on the table now. She folded her legs and leaned forward curiously, narrowing her eyes as if to squint at the songstress. As if actually trying to see through her.

“Don’t worry,” Dorothea replied, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m just self-conscious, I guess.” She picked up her cup of tea again, but she just stared at the small, sepia pool of liquid facing her, trying to make out her reflection in its depths. “The older I get, the more desperate I become.” She found herself gazing at a rather pretty--no, a downright beautiful--young woman with long, luscious brunette curls, porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, a slender nose, and… pitifully pathetic eyes. “People want me for my looks. For my voice. For my outer beauty.” She dipped the tip of her pinky into the teacup, and she watched as the surface became distorted and distressed, as waves and ripples wrinkled that gorgeous face. “Nobody will want me when my skin shrivels, when my hair greys, when my voice vanishes.” She sighed resignedly and placed the cup down without taking a drink. “Every birthday brings me closer to that miserable, lonely end, back in the streets of Enbarr where I began.”

Byleth furrowed her brow, as if she couldn’t quite comprehend what Dorothea was trying to say. “Why will you be alone?”

Dorothea blinked in surprise. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m single, Professor. I’ve been looking for a stable husband ever since I arrived at Garreg Mach. Someone to care for me, someone to give me land, money, or title.”

Byleth folded her arms over her chest and nodded slowly, beginning to understand. “That’s a shame,” she murmured.

Blunt as always. Dorothea nodded in agreement. “In a perfect world, I could marry for love,” the mage whispered. “And I even have someone in mind,” she added dreamily, once again swirling her spoon around in her teacup. “But I accepted this fate a long ti-- Professor?”

Byleth pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. “I can’t be a husband,” she began, “and I don’t have land, money, or title.” She glowered down at Dorothea, her eyes burning with sudden determination. “But I won’t let you be alone.”

Still slightly taken aback, Dorothea tried to force some laughter out of her tense, taut lips. “Haha, that’s sweet of you, even if you are just flirting.”

“I’m not.”

Blunt. Straightforward. Direct.

Honest.

Come to think of it, Byleth probably didn’t even know how to flirt.

“In your perfect world,” Byleth began, and she picked up a scone from the little tray placed before them on the table. “Would you marry the richest man in Fodlan?”

_ In my perfect world? _

“Of course not,” Dorothea laughed again, this time more harshly. “In my perfect world…” She took a long, slow sip of tea. “Well, I’ll leave that to your imagination, Professor. Thanks for indulging me on this otherwise dreary day.”

_ In my perfect world, I would spend my life singing for you. _

**Author's Note:**

> DOROTHEA ILY PLEASE ACCEPT MY HUMBLE OFFERING


End file.
